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Jeremy Marsh1 sat with the rest of the live studio audience, feeling unusually conspicuous3. He was one of only half a dozen men in attendance on that mid-December afternoon. He’d dressed in black, of course, and with his dark wavy4 hair, light blue eyes, and fashionable stubble, he looked every bit the New Yorker that he was. While studying the guest onstage, he managed to surreptitiously watch the attractive blonde three rows up. His profession often demanded effective multitasking. He was an investigative journalist in pursuit of a story, and the blonde was just another member of the audience; still, the professional observer in him couldn’t help noticing how attractive she looked in her halter top and jeans. Journalistically speaking, that is.
Clearing his mind, he tried to focus his attention on the guest again. This guy was beyond ridiculous. In the glare of television lights, Jeremy thought the spirit guide looked constipated as he claimed to hear voices from beyond the grave. He had assumed a false intimacy6, acting7 as if he were everyone’s brother or best friend, and it seemed that the vast majority of the awestruck audience—including the attractive blonde and the woman the guest was addressing—considered him a gift from heaven itself. Which made sense, Jeremy thought, since that was always where the lost loved ones ended up. Spirits from beyond the grave were always surrounded by bright angelic light and enveloped8 in an aura of peace and tranquility. Never once had Jeremy heard of a spirit guide channeling from the other, hotter place. A lost loved one never mentioned that he was being roasted on a spit or boiled in a cauldron of motor oil, for instance. But Jeremy knew he was being cynical9. And besides, he had to admit, it was a pretty good show. Timothy Clausen was good—far better than most of the quacks10 Jeremy had written about over the years.
“I know it’s hard,” Clausen said into the microphone, “but Frank is telling you that it’s time to let him go now.”
The woman he was addressing with oh-so-much empathy looked as if she was about to faint. Fiftyish, she wore a green-striped blouse, her curly red hair sprouting11 and spiraling in every direction. Her hands were clasped so tightly at chest level that her fingers were white from the pressure.
Clausen paused and brought his hand to his forehead, drawing once more on “the world beyond,” as he put it. In the silence, the crowd collectively leaned forward in their seats. Everyone knew what was coming next; this was the third audience member Clausen had chosen today. Not surprisingly, Clausen was the only featured guest on the popular talk show.
“Do you remember the letter he sent you?” Clausen asked. “Before he died?”
The woman gasped12. The crewman beside her held the microphone even closer so that everyone watching on television would be able to hear her clearly.
Clausen didn’t let her finish. “Do you remember what it said?” he asked.
Clausen nodded, as if he’d read the letter himself. “It was about forgiveness, wasn’t it?”
On the couch, the hostess of the show, the most popular afternoon talk show in America, swiveled her gaze from Clausen to the woman and back again. She looked both amazed and satisfied. Spirit guides were always good for ratings.
As the woman in the audience nodded, Jeremy noticed mascara beginning to stream down her cheeks. The cameras zoomed16 in to show it more clearly. Daytime television at its dramatic best.
“But how could you . . . ?” the woman repeated.
“He was talking about your sister, too,” Clausen murmured. “Not just himself.”
The woman stared at Clausen transfixed.
“Your sister Ellen,” Clausen added, and with that revelation, the woman finally let loose a raspy cry. Tears burst forth17 like an automated18 sprinkler. Clausen—tan and trim in his black suit with nary a hair out of place—continued to nod like one of those bobbing dogs you stick on your dashboard. The audience gazed at the woman in utter silence.
“Frank left something else for you, didn’t he? Something from your past.”
In spite of the hot studio lights, the woman actually seemed to pale. In the corner of the set, beyond the general viewing area, Jeremy saw the producer rotating an upraised finger in a helicopter pattern. It was getting close to the commercial break. Clausen glanced almost imperceptibly in that direction. No one but Jeremy seemed to notice, and he often wondered why viewers never questioned how channeling from the spirit world could be timed so perfectly19 to fit with commercial breaks.
Clausen went on. “That no one else could know about. A key of some sort, is that right?”
“You never thought he’d save it, did you?”
Okay, here’s the clincher, Jeremy thought. Another true believer on the way.
“It’s from the hotel where you stayed on your honeymoon21. He put it there so that when you found it, you would remember the happy times you spent together. He doesn’t want you to remember him with pain, because he loves you.”
“Ooohhhhhhh . . . ,” the woman cried.
Or something like that. A moan perhaps. From where he was sitting Jeremy couldn’t be certain, because the cry was interrupted by sudden, enthusiastic applause. All at once, the microphone was pulled away. Cameras zoomed out. Her moment in the sun completed, the woman from the audience collapsed22 in her seat. On cue, the hostess stood from the couch and faced the camera.
“Remember that what you’re seeing is real. None of these people have ever met with Timothy Clausen.” She smiled. “We’ll be back with one more reading after this.”
More applause as the show broke for commercials, and Jeremy leaned back in his seat.
As an investigative journalist known for his interest in science, he’d made a career out of writing about people like this. Most of the time, he enjoyed what he did and took pride in his work as a valuable public service, in a profession so special as to have its rights enumerated23 in the First Amendment24 of the Constitution of the United States of America. For his regular column in Scientific American, he’d interviewed Nobel laureates, explained the theories of Stephen Hawking25 and Einstein in lay terms, and had once been credited with sparking the groundswell of public opinion that led the FDA to remove a dangerous antidepressant from the market. He’d written extensively about the Cassini project, the faulty mirror on the lens of the Hubble spacecraft, and had been one of the first to publicly decry26 the Utah cold fusion27 experiment as a fraud.
Unfortunately, as impressive as it sounded, his column didn’t pay much. It was the freelance work that paid most of his bills, and like all freelancers28, he was always hustling29 to come up with stories that would interest magazine or newspaper editors. His niche30 had broadened to include “anything unusual,” and in the past fifteen years, he’d researched and investigated psychics31, spirit guides, faith healers, and mediums. He’d exposed frauds, hoaxes32, and forgeries33. He’d visited haunted houses, searched for mystical creatures, and hunted for the origins of urban legends. Skeptical34 by nature, he also had the rare ability to explain difficult35 scientific concepts in a way the average reader could understand, and his articles had appeared in hundreds of newspapers and magazines around the world. Scientific debunking36, he felt, was both noble and important, even if the public didn’t always appreciate it. Frequently, the mail he received after publishing his freelance articles was peppered with words like “idiot,” “moron,” and his personal favorite, “government flunky.”
Investigative journalism37, he’d come to learn, was a thankless business.
Reflecting on this with a frown, he observed the audience chatting eagerly, wondering who would be chosen next. Jeremy stole another glance at the blonde, who was examining her lipstick38 in a hand mirror.
Jeremy already knew that the people chosen by Clausen weren’t officially part of the act, even though Clausen’s appearance was announced in advance and people had fought wildly for tickets to the show. Which meant, of course, that the audience was loaded with life-after-death believers. To them, Clausen was legitimate39. How else could he know such personal things about strangers, unless he talked to spirits? But like any good magician who had his repertoire40 down pat, the illusion was still an illusion, and right before the show, Jeremy not only had figured out how he was pulling it off, but had the photographic evidence to prove it.
Bringing down Clausen would be Jeremy’s biggest coup41 to date, and it served the guy right. Clausen was the worst kind of con2 man. And yet the pragmatic side of Jeremy also realized that this was the kind of story that rarely came along, and he wanted to make the most of it. Clausen, after all, was on the cusp of enormous celebrity42, and in America, celebrity was all that mattered. Though he knew the odds43 were utterly44 improbable, he fantasized about what would happen if Clausen actually picked him next. He didn’t expect it; being chosen was akin5 to winning the trifecta at Santa Anita; and even if it didn’t happen, Jeremy knew he’d still have a quality story. But quality and extraordinary were often separated by simple twists of fate, and as the commercial break ended, he felt the slightest twinge of unjustified hope that somehow Clausen would zero in on him.
And, as if God himself wasn’t exactly thrilled with what Clausen was doing, either, that was exactly what happened.
Three weeks later, winter in Manhattan was bearing down hard. A front from Canada had moved in, dropping temperatures to nearly zero, and plumes45 of steam rose steadily46 from the sewer47 grates before settling over the icy sidewalks. Not that anyone seemed to mind. New York’s hardy48 citizens displayed their usual indifference49 to all things weather-related, and Friday nights were not to be wasted under any circumstance. People worked too hard during the week to waste an evening out, especially when there was reason to celebrate. Nate Johnson and Alvin Bernstein had already been celebrating for an hour, as had a couple of dozen friends and journalists—some from Scientific American—who’d assembled in Jeremy’s honor. Most were well into the buzz phase of the evening and enjoying themselves immensely, mostly because journalists tended to be budget-conscious and Nate was picking up the tab.
Nate was Jeremy’s agent. Alvin, a freelance cameraman, was Jeremy’s best friend, and they’d gathered at the trendy bar on the Upper West Side to celebrate Jeremy’s appearance on ABC’s Primetime Live. Commercials for Primetime Live had been airing that week—most of them featuring Jeremy front and center and the promise of a major exposé—and interview requests were pouring into Nate’s office from around the country. Earlier that afternoon, People magazine had called, and an interview was scheduled for the following Monday morning.
There hadn’t been enough time to organize a private room for the get-together50, but no one seemed to mind. With its long granite51 bar and dramatic lighting52, the packed facility was yuppieville. While the journalists from Scientific American tended to wear tweed sport jackets with pocket protectors and were crowded into one corner of the room discussing photons, most of the other patrons looked as if they’d dropped by after finishing up at work on Wall Street or Madison Avenue: Italian suit jackets slung53 over the backs of chairs, Hermès ties loosened, men who seemed to want to do nothing more than to scope out the women in attendance while flashing their Rolexes. Women straight from work in publishing and advertising54 were dressed in designer skirts and impossibly high heels, sipping55 flavored martinis while pretending to ignore the men. Jeremy himself had his eye on a tall redhead standing56 at the other end of the bar who appeared to be glancing his way. He wondered if she recognized him from the television ads, or whether she just wanted some company. She turned away, apparently57 uninterested, but then looked his way again. With her gaze lingering just a little longer this time, Jeremy raised his glass.
“C’mon, Jeremy, pay attention,” Nate said, nudging him with his elbow. “You’re on TV! Don’t you want to see how you did?”
Jeremy turned from the redhead. Glancing up at the screen, he saw himself sitting opposite Diane Sawyer. Strange, he thought, like being in two places at once. It still didn’t seem quite real. Nothing in the past three weeks had seemed real, despite his years in media.
On-screen, Diane was describing him as “America’s most esteemed58 scientific journalist.” Not only had the story turned out to be everything he’d wanted, but Nate was even talking to Primetime Live about Jeremy doing regular stories for them with a possibility of additional features on Good Morning America. Though many journalists believed television was less important than other, more serious forms of reporting, it didn’t stop most of them from secretly viewing television as the Holy Grail, by which they meant big money. Despite the congratulations, envy was in the air, a sensation as foreign to Jeremy as space travel.
After all, journalists of his stripe weren’t exactly at the top of the media pecking order—until today.
“Did she just call you esteemed?” Alvin asked. “You write about Bigfoot and the legend of Atlantis!”
“Shh,” Nate said, his eyes glued to the television. “I’m trying to hear this. It could be important for Jeremy’s career.” As Jeremy’s agent, Nate was forever promoting events that “could be important for Jeremy’s career,” for the simple reason that freelancing wasn’t all that lucrative59. Years earlier, when Nate was starting out, Jeremy had pitched a book proposal, and they’d been working together ever since, simply because they’d become friends.
“Whatever,” Alvin said, dismissing the scolding.
Meanwhile, flickering on the screen behind Diane Sawyer and Jeremy were the final moments of Jeremy’s performance on the daytime television show, in which Jeremy had pretended to be a man grieving the boyhood death of his brother, a boy Clausen claimed to be channeling for Jeremy’s benefit.
“He’s with me,” Clausen could be heard announcing. “He wants you to let him go, Thad.” The picture shifted to capture Jeremy’s rendition of an anguished60 guest, his face contorted. Clausen nodded in the background, either oozing61 sympathy or looking constipated, depending on the perspective.
“Your mother never changed his room—the room you shared with him. She insisted that it be kept unchanged, and you still had to sleep there,” Clausen went on.
“Yes,” Jeremy gasped.
“But you were frightened in there, and in your anger, you took something of his, something very personal, and buried it in the backyard.”
“Yes,” Jeremy managed again, as if too emotional to say more.
“His retainer!”
“Ooooohhhhhhhhh,” Jeremy cried, bringing his hands to his face.
“He loves you, but you have to realize that he’s at peace now. He has no anger toward you . . .”
In the bar, Nate watched the clips in silent concentration. Alvin, on the other hand, was laughing as he raised his beer high.
“Give that man an Oscar!” he shouted.
“It was rather impressive, wasn’t it?” Jeremy said, grinning.
“I mean it, you two,” Nate said, not hiding his irritation63. “Talk during the commercials.”
“Whatever,” Alvin said again. “Whatever” had always been Alvin’s favorite word.
On Primetime Live, the videotape faded to black and the camera focused on Diane Sawyer and Jeremy, sitting across from each other once again.
“So nothing Timothy Clausen said was true?” Diane asked.
“Not a thing,” Jeremy said. “As you already know, my name isn’t Thad, and while I do have five brothers, they’re all alive and well.”
Diane held a pen over a pad of paper, as if she was about to take notes. “So how did Clausen do this?”
“Well, Diane,” Jeremy began.
In the bar, Alvin’s pierced eyebrow64 rose. He leaned toward Jeremy. “Did you just call her Diane? Like you’re friends?”
“Could you please!” Nate said, growing more exasperated65 by the moment.
On-screen, Jeremy was going on. “What Clausen does is simply a variation on what people have been doing for hundreds of years. First of all, he’s good at reading people, and he’s an expert at making vague, emotionally charged associations and responding to audience members’ cues.”
“Yes, but he was so specific. Not only with you, but with the other guests. He had names. How does he do that?”
Jeremy shrugged66. “He heard me talking about my brother Marcus before the show. I simply made up an imaginary life and
broadcast it loud and clear.”
“How did it actually reach Clausen’s ears?”
“Con men like Clausen have been known to use a variety of tricks, including microphones and paid ‘listeners’ who circulate in the waiting area before the show. Before I was seated, I made sure to move around and strike up conversations with lots of audience members, watching to see if anyone exhibited unusual interest in my story. And sure enough, one man seemed particularly concerned.”
Behind them, the videotape was replaced by an enlarged photograph that Jeremy had taken with a small camera hidden in his watch, a high-tech67 spy toy he’d promptly68 expensed to Scientific American. Jeremy loved high-tech toys almost as much as he loved expensing them to others.
“What are we looking at here?” Diane asked.
Jeremy pointed69. “This man was mingling70 with the studio audience, posing as a visitor from Peoria. I took this photograph right before the show while we were talking. Zoom15 in further, please.”
On-screen, the photograph was enlarged and Jeremy motioned toward it.
“Do you see the small USA pin on his lapel? That’s not just for decoration. It’s actually a miniature transmitter that broadcasts to a recording71 device backstage.”
Diane frowned. “How do you know this?”
“Because,” Jeremy said, raising an eyebrow, “I happen to have one just like it.”
On cue, Jeremy reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what appeared to be the same USA pin, attached to a long, threadlike wire and transmitter.
“This particular model is manufactured in Israel”—Jeremy’s voice could be heard over the camera close-up of the gadget—“and it’s very high-end. I’ve heard it’s used by the CIA, but, of course, I can’t confirm that. What I can tell you is that the technology is very advanced—this little microphone can pick up conversations from across a noisy, crowded room and, with the right filtering systems, can even isolate72 them.”
Diane inspected the pin with apparent fascination73. “And you’re certain that this was indeed a microphone and not just a pin?”
“Well, as you know, I’ve been looking into Clausen’s past for a long time now, and a week after the show, I managed to obtain some more photographs.”
A new photograph flashed on the screen. Though a bit grainy, it was a picture of the same man who’d been wearing the USA pin.
“This photo was taken in Florida, outside Clausen’s office. As you can see, the man is heading inside. His name is Rex Moore, and he’s actually an employee of Clausen’s. He’s worked with Clausen for two years.”
“Ooohhhhh!” Alvin shouted, and the rest of the broadcast, which was winding74 down, anyway, was drowned out as others, jealous or not, joined in with hoots75 and hollers. The free booze had worked its magic, and Jeremy was deluged76 with congratulations after the show had ended.
“You were fantastic,” Nate said. At forty-three, Nate was short and balding and had a tendency to wear suits that were just a bit too tight in the waist. No matter, the man was energy incarnate77 and, like most agents, positively78 buzzed with fervent79 optimism.
“Thanks,” Jeremy said, downing the remainder of his beer.
“This is going to be big for your career,” Nate went on. “It’s your ticket to a regular television gig. No more scrambling80 for lousy freelance magazine work, no more chasing UFO stories. I’ve always said that with your looks, you were made for TV.”
“You have always said that,” Jeremy conceded with the eye-rolling manner of someone reciting an oft-given lecture.
“I mean it. The producers from Primetime Live and GMA keep calling, talking about using you as a regular contributor on their shows. You know, ‘what this late-breaking science news means for you’ and all that. A big leap for a science reporter.”
“Whatever,” Nate said, making a motion as if brushing away a fly. “Like I’ve always said, your looks are made for television.”
“I’d have to say Nate’s right,” Alvin added with a wink82. “I mean, how else could you be more popular than me with the ladies, despite having zero personality?” For years, Alvin and Jeremy had frequented bars together, trolling for dates.
Jeremy laughed. Alvin Bernstein, whose name conjured83 up a clean-cut, bespectacled accountant—one of the countless84 professionals who wore Florsheim shoes and carried a briefcase85 to work— didn’t look like an Alvin Bernstein. As a teenager, he’d seen Eddie Murphy in Delirious86 and had decided87 to make the full-leather style his own, a wardrobe that horrified his Florsheim-wearing, briefcase-carrying father, Melvin. Fortunately, leather seemed to go well with his tattoos88. Alvin considered tattoos to be a reflection of his unique aesthetic89, and he was uniquely aesthetic on both his arms, right up to his shoulder blades. All of which complemented90 Alvin’s multiply pierced ears.
“So are you still planning a trip down south to investigate that ghost story?” Nate pressed. Jeremy could fairly see the wheels clicking and clacking away in his brain. “After your interview with People, I mean.”
Jeremy brushed his dark hair out of his eyes and signaled the bartender for another beer. “Yeah, I guess so. Primetime or no Primetime, I still have bills to pay, and I was thinking I could use this for my column.”
“But you’ll be in contact, right? Not like when you went undercover with the Righteous and Holy?” He was referring to a six-thousand-word piece Jeremy had done for Vanity Fair about a religious cult; in that instance, Jeremy had essentially91 severed92 all communication for a period of three months.
“I’ll be in contact,” Jeremy said. “This story isn’t like that. I should be out of there in less than a week. ‘Mysterious lights in the cemetery93.’ No big deal.”
“Hey, you need a cameraman by any chance?” Alvin piped in.
Jeremy looked over at him. “Why? Do you want to go?”
“Hell yeah. Head south for the winter, maybe meet me a nice southern belle94 while you pick up the tab. I hear the women down there will drive you crazy, but in a good way. It’ll be like an exotic vacation.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be shooting something for Law & Order next week?”
As strange as Alvin looked, his reputation was impeccable, and his services were usually in high demand.
“Yeah, but I’ll be clear toward the end of the week,” Alvin said. “And look, if you’re serious about this television thing like Nate says you should be, it might be important to get some decent footage of these mysterious lights.”
“That’s assuming there are even any lights to film.”
“You do the advance work and let me know. I’ll keep my calendar open.”
“Even if there are lights, it’s a small story,” Jeremy warned. “No one in television will be interested in it.”
“Not last month, maybe,” Alvin said. “But after seeing you tonight, they’ll be interested. You know how it is in television—all those producers chasing their own tails, trying to find the next big thing. If GMA is suddenly hot to trot95, then you know the Today show will be calling soon and Dateline will be knocking at the door. No producer wants to be left out. That’s how they get fired. The last thing they want to do is to have to explain to the executives why they missed the boat. Believe me—I work in television. I know these people.”
“He’s right,” Nate said, interrupting them. “You never know what’ll happen next, and it might be a good idea to plan ahead. You had definite presence tonight. Don’t kid yourself. And if you can get some actual footage of the lights, it might be just the thing that GMA or Primetime needs to make their decision.”
Jeremy squinted96 at his agent. “You serious about this? It’s a nothing story. The reason I decided to do it at all was because I needed a break after Clausen. That story took four months of my life.”
“And look what it got you,” Nate said, putting a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “This may be a fluff piece, but with sensational97 footage and a good backstory, who knows what television will think?”
Jeremy was silent for a moment before finally shrugging. “Fine,” he said. He glanced at Alvin. “I’m leaving on Tuesday. See if you can get there by next Friday. I’ll call you before then with the details.”
Alvin reached for his beer and took a drink. “Well, golly,” he said, mimicking98 Gomer Pyle, “I’m off to the land of grits99 and chitlins. And I promise my bill won’t be too high.”
Jeremy laughed. “You ever been down south?”
“Nope. You?”
“I’ve visited New Orleans and Atlanta,” Jeremy admitted. “But those are cities, and cities are pretty much the same everywhere. For this story, we’re heading to the real South. It’s a little town in North Carolina, a place called Boone Creek100. You should see the town’s Web site. It talks about the azaleas and dogwoods that bloom in April, and proudly displays a picture of the town’s most prominent citizen. A guy named Norwood Jefferson.”
“Who?” Alvin asked.
“A politician. He served in the North Carolina State Senate from 1907 to 1916.”
“Who cares?”
“Exactly,” Jeremy said with a nod. Glancing across the bar, he noticed with disappointment that the redhead was gone.
“Where is this place exactly?”
“Right between the middle of nowhere and ‘where are we exactly?’ I’m staying at a place called Greenleaf Cottages, which the Chamber101 of Commerce describes as scenic102 and rustic103 yet modern. Whatever that means.”
Alvin laughed. “Sounds like an adventure.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll fit right in down there, I’m sure.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Jeremy said. “They’ll probably want to adopt you.”
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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quacks
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| abbr.quacksalvers 庸医，骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 )；江湖郎中；（鸭子的）呱呱声v.（鸭子）发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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zoom
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| n.急速上升；v.突然扩大，急速上升 | |
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zoomed
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| v.（飞机、汽车等）急速移动( zoom的过去式 )；（价格、费用等）急升，猛涨 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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automated
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| a.自动化的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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collapsed
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enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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freelancers
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| n.自由作家，自由记者( freelancer的名词复数 ) | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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30
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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psychics
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| 心理学，心灵学； （自称）通灵的或有特异功能的人，巫师( psychic的名词复数 ) | |
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hoaxes
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| n.恶作剧，戏弄( hoax的名词复数 )v.开玩笑骗某人，戏弄某人( hoax的第三人称单数 ) | |
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forgeries
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| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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debunking
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| v.揭穿真相，暴露( debunk的现在分词 ) | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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38
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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39
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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41
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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get-together
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| n.(使)聚集；(使)集合 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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high-tech
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| adj.高科技的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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84
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tattoos
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| n.文身( tattoo的名词复数 )；归营鼓；军队夜间表演操；连续有节奏的敲击声v.刺青，文身( tattoo的第三人称单数 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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complemented
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| 有补助物的，有余格的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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93
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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grits
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| n.粗磨粉；粗面粉；粗燕麦粉；粗玉米粉；细石子，砂粒等( grit的名词复数 )；勇气和毅力v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的第三人称单数 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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100
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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101
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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102
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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103
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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